


Mending

by Actias



Series: Mycroft tid-bits [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drugs, Emotions, Feels, Gen, Hospital, Mycroft learning about feelings, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2016-09-02
Packaged: 2018-08-12 12:20:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7934404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Actias/pseuds/Actias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two strangers meet in a hospital hallway.<br/>The smallest things sometimes leave the biggest marks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mending

**Author's Note:**

> My first short story(?) regarding Mycroft. An exploration of the character. Sometimes we forget characters (and people) are three-dimensional.  
> Enjoy!  
> Hopefully the first of many more.

She had sat there for over an hour, constantly trying to fight back tears. As long as she didn’t think about it, she didn’t cry but that proved to be difficult. God this hospital hallway was agonising. White and dreary, seemingly stretching on forever in the same pattern of door, bench, door, door, bench, all the way down and again across.

The light flickered overhead.

A memory flashed by. It was the end of summer, she had just gotten back from vacation. They’d met at her house and her jaw had dropped. The cheerful energetic blabbermouth had become fearful, moody and anxious. She had noticed some signs before leaving two months prior but this…

This was barely the person she had known.

Another fit of tears made their way down her cheeks. She clenched her teeth, tried to choke them back. A guttural sound escaped her throat and she hit the bench in frustration.

Breath in, breath out.

She closed her eyes.

A padding sound from down the hall.

She wiped her tears and tried to calm herself.

Breath in, breath out.

The footsteps stopped in front of her. Clothing rustled and the bench facing her creaked. She opened one eye, closed it, did a double take and opened it again.

It wasn’t like she had expected anything but this unconventional figure came as a surprise. He was tall but sturdy with squared shoulders that fit nicely in his long black coat. Under it, was a grey three-piece suit with a pocket watch chain hanging from his waistcoat pocket. Between his legs, he was clasping a black umbrella with a bamboo handle. He seemed out of place in a hospital environment. Well, almost.

The growing black rings around his eyes and the curl of misplaced hair flopping on his forehead hinted to a state of exhaustion. A flicker of worry in his eyes when he turned to look at the door beside him confirmed her doubts.

For some reason, that was enough for her to shed tears again. Even with a lot of effort, she could not stifle the moan that came out of her mouth. That got the stranger’s attention.

Breath in, breath out.

He watched her struggle hesitatingly.

Breath in, breath out.

She tilted her head back against the wall and grounded herself.

“Are you OK?”

Her head shot up. Their eyes met. One pair red, puffy and surprised, the other dark tired and… a flicker of concern quickly repressed. They analysed each other, one looking for emotion, the other judging what the other was thinking.

“No,” she finally answered. “I don’t think I look it either.”

The man’s face reddened in embarrassment and he shut his eyes for a second. He looked even more tired.

“No, I suppose it was obvious. Pardon me.”

Silence stretched.

“How are you?” she asked him. It was his turn to be surprised. He hesitated before answering.

“Tired, mostly. And frustrated.”

“Who’s in there?”

Another pause of hesitation.

“My younger brother, Sherlock.” He could have left the last part out but he didn’t.

His words sank in.

“What happened?”

The man stared at the floor. It was not a question he had ever needed to answer because Sherlock’s antics rarely got him to a hospital, he usually found him first, but maybe this once he could tell.

“Drug overdose.” His eyes met hers tentatively. He only found more tears flowing down the girl’s cheeks.

“Why are you crying?” he asked, slightly confused.

She smiled a sad smile.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

He left his mouth slightly agape. He never expected a perfect stranger to care. For lack of better idea, he sent the question back.

“You?” he asked.

Another sad smile mingled with regret.

“My best friend. Suicide attempt.”

The man’s heart caught in his chest. He reflected about this unusual reaction and found an answer. If Sherlock were to commit suicide, he would be left broken. In that small moment, in that lonely hallway, he understood someone else’s pain and he truly felt bad.

A sad smile, the reflexion of the girl’s, painted his lips.

They contemplated the time in silence. Both wondering if they should go into their friend’s/brother’s room or leave them be.

After a while, the man looked at his watch and walked into Sherlock’s room. He noticed his brother was pretending to sleep but ignored it and sat down next to the bed. Thirty minutes later he left, gently closing the door behind him.

The girl was sleeping on the bench, knees tucked to her chest protectively. The man took the time to memorise her features, committing to remembering this girl that taught her something he had forgotten.

No matter the occasion, we are all allowed to grieve.

In our own time,

In our own way,

For others and for ourselves.


End file.
